First Reply The Vines that Bind

[Quinton Vorn]

One Charming Jungle Evening...​

Location: Dathomir
Time: Early-Evening
Weather: Torrential Rain

The perpetual rain storm that hammered on the rooftops of the rural Dathomiri outpost provided a fulfilling and relaxing aura to the Cantina that Quinton found himself comforting a small glass in. His drink, a 'Sarlacc Surprise', was a fruity concoction with a small, yet poignant, shot of something that was enough to perk him from a frustrating boredom.

He'd been at the Outpost for hours with around another day's travel away from the ritual site that he came across in an old record back on Corellia a week ago. The price to obtain such knowledge was the small bribe of a fine vintage to one of the Public Administration officials that oversaw the dockyards – allegedly hearing it from a squabbling pair of pirates in the Spaceport Cantina there. A small lead, but Quinton was used to chasing far more on far less and this was one of his first personal projects to look into.

He'd managed to obtain passage with relative ease, but found that once he was planetside on Dathomir, it was a local Bounty Hunter that provided him with a small speeder trip to outpost he found himself in. Apparently, this Hunter was a regular around the system, given that many thought it easy to slip off the radar in the jungle. Somehow, Quinton imagined there were far less hostile places that someone could accomplish the same result. Rancors weren't good neighbours after all.

The Cantina offered respite from the road and some company. The travelling mercenaries that accompanied the Ithorian barkeep left Quinton alone, as he, adorned in his normal travelling clothes, black cloak and signature boots, made himself comfortable on a stool. He ordered whatever the Barkeep hadn't made in some time and provided some loose credit chits as payment. He'd smirked when the translator around the alien's neck provided him with the name of the drink. Quinton kept his motives and intentions to himself – anxious to ensure his sought-after prize was not snatched by anyone else, but eager to seek someone with knowledge of the system to assist with finding the hidden temple.

The irony of his silence to seek knowledge was not lost on the man, who continued to observe the occasional speeder pass on the adjacent roadway. The patter of the rain storm outside continued to relaxingly thump away, as his mind wandered to other places.

 

[Laphisto]

The door gave a low mechanical hiss as it opened, spilling a sheet of rain and cold air into the tavern. Laphisto stepped through, broad shoulders framed against the downpour, the dull glow of Dathomir's crimson sky cutting briefly across his armor before the door sealed behind him.

He rumbled under his breath, the kind of sound born from long days and too many unanswered questions. Wiping the rain from his brow with the back of his hand, he looked every bit the man who'd had his fill of this planet's babble, mysteries, and consequences. The witchcraft, the storms, the whispers in the fogit all blended into one endless irritation.

With a small huff, he strode to the bar, leaving faint wet prints in his wake. The Ithorian barkeep glanced up, eye stalks narrowing at the sight of his gear. Laphisto didn't bother with pleasantries. "Something strong," he muttered, sliding a few chits across the counter. "Whatever burns on the way down."

The barkeep gave a low warble of acknowledgment and turned to mix the order. Laphisto exhaled through his nose, pulling off one of his gauntlets to flex his hand as if the act alone might shake off the weight of the day. The smell of spice, oil, and wet durasteel filled the room.

When the drink came, he took it without a word one long sip, a quiet growl of approval. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and activated the communicator inset in his vambrace."Copy that, Captain," he said, his voice low but steady over the hum of background static. "Good work getting the ship in the air before the storm hit. Once it clears, I'll send you my coordinates, and we can be rid of this dreadful place. I've had enough of Dathomiri witch magic for one trip and we didn't even find what we came here for to begin with."

He ended the transmission with a muted click, the faint reflection of the hololight fading across his visor. Leaning forward on the bar, he let out a breath through his teeth and set the empty glass down beside him. The rain outside was relentless, hammering against the tin roof like a war drum.

For a long moment, he simply sat there, listening to the storm, to the crackle of the old holo-jukebox in the corner, to the murmur of other travelers pretending not to stare. His gaze drifted toward the far end of the counter, where a solitary man nursed a vivid drink that looked far too cheerful for a place like this. Something about him his stillness, the way his eyes never truly rested spoke of a purpose not unlike his own. and as he staired he let the force flow over his eyes a golden crimson color filled them as he then peered at the man. not with sight but through the force pulling at there alignment to it

Quinton Vorn